


Crybaby

by Jakcett



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, It actually doesn't make too much sense, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakcett/pseuds/Jakcett
Summary: A short conversation between Dorian and my Inquisitor about his (lack of) Vallaslin.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Crybaby

**Author's Note:**

> I actually found this in my trash file. Idk if it's good but something made me want to post it. 
> 
> I didn't polish it up at all, I'm quite literally just dragging this out of the trash and posting it as-is.

Inquisitor Lavellan has taken a liking to sitting on the floor by his feet whenever Dorian is reading. Before, he would spend most of his time in the stables bothering the horses and harts, but now he sits on the floor and lays his head on Dorian's knee and bothers him. 

Well, Dorian isn't  _ bothered  _ per se. Rather just hesitantly curious as to why a dalish boy would see  _ him  _ as decent company. The elf snapped at him, once, for his thoughts on slavery, and has said nothing else on the topic since. He's hardly even spoken in general. Just the occasional "What are you reading?" or a barrage of questions about Tevinter life. Otherwise, he sits in content silence and watches the courtyard from the window.

Dorian only knows about as much as Josephine was willing to divulge. Lavellan is Dalish and was found in the remnants of the conclave, unconscious and glowing. His given name is Fen'Haran, which according to him means Leader of Wolves (Solas bristles at the sound of it and detests the boy wholeheartedly.) He relishes the fury of battle and yet--

"Fen," Dorian finds that staring at the top of Lavellan's head can answer very few questions. 

He raises his head, brown hair ruffled as always, and instead of articulating a real response, he replies with a short hum. 

"I hope this isn't invasive, but I find myself curious. You're Dalish are you not?" Dorian closes the book that was in his lap, saving his page. "Where is your Vallaslin?" 

Lavellan closed his eyes tight, yawned, and made a face. A sardonic little grin. "It ran away." 

Dorian had to physically hold himself back from popping the boy over the head. "Yes, of course." He sighed and dragged a hand over his face, "If that's a sore spot I apologize for intruding." 

But there was a little laugh and Lavellan spoke again. "It's fine, don't worry." He laid his head on Dorian's knee again which let little confused butterflies loose in the mage's stomach, as always. 

"So you know how Vallaslin is a coming of age thing for us?" Lavellan spoke, sleepily. "Usually we get our Vallaslin when we turn eighteen, though you can get it done when you're younger if you prove yourself mature. Ever since I was a child I've been terrified of the ritual. Just, the thought of the needle in my face makes me…" He shivered. 

Dorian was quiet for a moment out of judgment. "Aren't you a reaver? You and Bull beat on each other like you're siblings--" 

Lavellan laughed, something about it felt nice to Dorian. Like music to his ears, it was soft but the sound of it poked impolitely at Dorian's heart. 

"That's different somehow. It hurts less since I'm not focusing on the pain and…" he thought for a moment. "I guess what pain I do feel, it makes me fight harder since I know somewhere at the back of my mind that if I don't, I could die." 

"You're awfully morbid. You can't die. You've beat death--what--three times since I've met you? You're unstoppable." He ruffled Lavellan's hair and the boy laughed again, arching upwards like a cat towards a good scratch. 

"When I was living with my clan, I would help with the Halla and drive off predators. Keeper Deshanna told me once that she considered having my Vallaslin done early but, eh." He shuffled his knees to his chest. "She said I had my head in the clouds all the time. She would yell at me for sleeping in the Halla den." 

"That makes sense." Dorian found himself playing with Lavellan's hair. 

"When I did turn eighteen, I had to sit and reflect and meditate on the gods and choose one to dedicate myself to, and I had chosen Ghilan'nain, the Mother of Halla." 

"Of course." 

"So the ritual is that I get to sit in a cave with Keeper Deshanna, lay my head in her lap, and she pokes my face with a needle for hours and I'm expected to stay completely silent and still because if I cry about it then I'm not mature enough. So of course since this was something I've been terrified of since I was a kid, I winced a little bit and she kicked me out." He says it with humor and if he was upset about it, it wasn't obvious. Dorian got a chuckle out of it. 

"Do you get a second chance?" Dorian finds that Lavellan's hair is like silk in his hands. 

"Yeah and I whined about it again. I didn't get a third chance since, well, I got to go get blown up at the conclave." He turns his head slightly towards Dorian. "She still thought of me as a baby and yet she kicked me out of my bed and told me to go spy on the chantry meeting which is halfway across the continent." He says it with a sarcastic little pout, which slowly melted. He sighed. 

Dorian's hand paused in Lavellan's hair. "Are you alright?" He bent down a little closer and could see the distant look in the Inquisitor's eyes.

"Sometimes...I just wonder if she did that to get rid of me. Apparently I was a hopeless case, I heard her talking to her first once. Just, she said that I was too immature. That I didn't do much beyond play with the Halla and cause trouble." He hugged his knees tight, blinking to stave off tears. "Can't do shit, so let's just get rid of him." He sighed and wiped a hand over his face. Sniffled. 

Dorian kept quiet, hand still brushing slowly through Lavellan's hair. He could relate in a way. Not being able to reach the standards that his parents had set for him, even if superficial. They were alike, perhaps. Maybe they had traveled along the same paths on their way into Ferelden. 

"I apologize for making you bring up such harsh thoughts." 

Lavellan sniffled again and pulled himself together. "Don't, it's fine, not your fault." He wiped at his damp eyes again. "Maybe I am still a big baby for crying over something so dumb." 

Dorian's eyebrows pinched together. He crossed his arms and leaned down. "It is not dumb, it's… rather normal to be upset about something such as that."

Lavellan seemed to ponder that but didn't say anything more. 

"Perhaps you were meant for greater things. You are quite a decent leader...for a crybaby." He nudged him with his knee. 

Thank the Maker Lavellan laughed at that. That soft little laugh that cut straight through to Dorian's heart. 

"I guess. Not too bad for a crybaby." He nudged Dorian back with his shoulder. 


End file.
